


The Fifth Shot

by RumblyStomach



Category: Original Work, elves - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Cold, Elf, Elves, Execution, Farm House, Farmhouse, Field, Imagery, Murder, Mutant, Mutants, Post, anonymous, fucking angry, kill shack, making shit up, online, pasture, pissed, yak, yik, yikyak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6733069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumblyStomach/pseuds/RumblyStomach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bullet holes mysteriously appear on the mutants in the herd. When there are four, the elves must deliver a fifth and final shot to put the mutant out of its misery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fifth Shot

The two elves were perched on an old stone wall as the herd of mutants slept in front of them. “Where do these come from?” Herm asked his supervisor, Mook. Mook shook his head and replied, “I don’t know, I’ve wondered the same thing for all the years that I’ve worked here. They just come in from the elves in the North and we send them to the elves in the South, filtering out the miserable ones.”

The pasture in which they had stopped was barren and cold. The elves had bundled themselves up in scarves and thick coats as they sat on the frigid wall. There was an old farmhouse placed some ways off in the dead field, a long matted path lead from the road on which the elves traveled to the house. They knew the route well; every Monday they met up with Ernerk and Knek, the elves from the North, and collected their mutants from them. Mook and Herm then lead the herd through their own familiar section of woods, roads, streams, and paths. Their journey was over when they reached the end of this pasture where Shik and Lerf, the South elves, picked up the mutants, usually on Friday.

This was more or less all that their job was. As the long line of bagged or blindfolded mutants trudged along at a very slow pace, Mook and Herm checked the mutants’ bodies for bullet holes. The mutants didn’t speak and barely had voices, some of them made grunting or wheezing noises but that was the extent of their communication skills. Sometimes they held hands, but they all usually just stumbled blindly along the trails.

“It’s getting to be that time,” Mook said to Herm, moving his sleeve to check his watch, “We gotta get moving again.” They stood up from the wall, stretching up reaching for the sky. Herm walked along the herd nudging the mutants in the ribs with his foot, saying “Hey hey! Wake up, creatures!” They usually woke up and composed themselves on their feet within minutes.

“Ay, Herm!” Mook called from his end of the line, “This one has four holes.”

Herm spoke back saying, “Yeah I got one too! Unlocking it.” He pulled a set of keys from his belt and unlocked the shackles around a thin mutant who breathed with labored sighs, blood leaking from the four holes through the feathers on its chest. He put a hand on its back and guided it toward the wall where Mook stood with his mutant, this one was furry, and its bullet holes were all in one of its feet, causing it to limp. Its breathing was more of a whimper.

“Did you lock them back up?” Mook asked

“Yeah, they won’t be going anywhere.” Herm answered, gesturing to the pathetic dirty group behind him.

The elves lead their bagged and wounded mutants down the path to the farmhouse. The dead grass crunched under their feet/claws/paws as they carried along. Upon reaching the farmhouse, Mook unlocked the front door and brought Herm and their mutants into the foul-smelling dankness of the dark building.

Mook stayed in this front room, while Herm brought his mutant to a room further back. Herm hated the way Mook took care of his wounded. Herm liked to think that his own method was the most humane way possible.

He put the feathered mutant on its knees by giving a sharp kick to its lower thigh, pulled the bag up just a bit, so that the neck and back of its head showed. He then drew his revolver from his belt, cocked it, and placed it against the back of the mutants scabby and bone pale head, right above where the neck met the skull. He put his arm in front of his face to avoid getting spray in his eyes, and pulled the trigger. The mutant was dead. Herm placed the pistol back in his belt and turned to go back to the front of the house.

Turns out, Mook wasn’t quite done with his kill yet. He was looking the mutant directly in its unbagged face, it was truly hideous, covered in fur, mucus, and sores, with a terrified expression on its face. They were both on their knees and, upon Herm’s entry, looked up. Herm saw a brief flash of hope in the mutant’s eyes, but it noticed the spray that coated his arms and jacket. Realizing Herm was just another one of Mook, it looked at the floor. Mook blew a hole through its neck in a big black spray with a pull of the trigger, leaving it choking for breath on the grungy dirt floor of the kill shack.

“How many times do I have to tell you to wait for the second shot!?” Mook stood and screamed in his partner’s face. “Just because I do it differently doesn’t mean that you have to blow my fucking concentration EVERY FUCKING TIME!” Mook angrily holstered his gun and threw open the front door, letting it slam against the railing of the porch. Herm crouched to look at the spluttering mutant that lay on the floor bleeding black. Mook stuck his head back in the doorway “Hey! Don’t you even think about a mercy kill you weak FUCK.” He stormed off again, screaming to himself.

Herm knew that this would happen, he was too weak, like Mook said, for a job like this. They didn’t always have to kill the mutants, it only happened occasionally. For the most part it had only been one mutant to die at a time, Mook and Herm each had their own execution method. They had traded off each time with who got to deliver the fifth and final shot.

Mook liked to unbag his mutant, show it the gun and use it to injure its knee, so it knew to be afraid it. He’d then look it right in the face, waving the gun around and shoot it through the neck, so that it bled out in pain.

Mook was right about Herm messing up every time. Whenever there were two mutants, Herm always came in before Mook was done. Herm was just thankful that they were almost done this time, Mook liked to stay angry and be rude to Herm for the rest of the job.

Herm walked back out into the grey field, locking the house behind him. There was a fog rolling in. Mook had already collected the reins and continued a little way down the road. Herm knew not to bother trying to apologize or even speak to Mook when he was like this. By the time Herm caught up with the herd, they had already reached the end of the route and he could see the signal fire where Shik and Lerf were waiting.

Mook was passing along the worn leather bound journal that kept the record of their miles traveled, total time of rest, ammunition used, and mutants lost and gained. “…and it was all going great when—oh here he is now,” Mook was sharing his story when Herm walked up to them, “When fucknose, here showed up and messed with the mood. I couldn’t get the kill right. Fuckin’ son of a bitch.” Mook gave Herm a filthy-rotten-dirty look.

“Alright, well thanks for the delivery, the record, and the story, Mook,” Lerf said nervously. He didn’t like dealing with conflict, “Shik and I will take them from here.” Herm picked up the reins from the ground and handed them to Shik. He took them wordlessly. They turned and went on their way.

**Author's Note:**

> There is an app called YikYak, which is like an anonymous twitter. When a post gets downvoted five times, it disappears from the feed. Whenever I come across a post that has four downvotes, I like to imagine that the final downvote is delivered like an executioner's bullet. I wrote a thing based on this obscure idea.


End file.
